


Solas

by neverminetohold



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Canon, Pre-Trespasser, Slash, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five layers that make the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dread Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



Solas may have been the only one left but, he remembered.  
  
The spires of Arlathan had reached the clouds, moist and glistening with condensation where their very tips tore them apart, stalled their scudding across a clear blue sky. Lyrium long dead molded to give the people shelter, ivory-colored and veined with gold and jewels, blue vitriol and silverite.  
  
They twined and grew around trees, giants themselves, rustling leaves that stayed the color of spring, no matter the season. Fragile seeming bridges connected them, platforms and walkways, mansions and palaces, all held aloft. The wood had been coaxed to assume shapes that served a purpose, tables and chairs, wardrobes and beds.  
  
Birds and butterflies flitted around in the canopy, their hum and twitter joining in the endless hymn of magic, woven with the delicacy and patience only immortality could afford.  
  
A serene place. Beautiful. Filled with laughter and idle happiness.  
  
All built around a rotten core and sustained by slavery, a rigid caste system, the whispers of spies, eyes and ears hearing and seeing all, and capital punishment for the least of crimes. Corruption ran deep. Petty feuds in the higher echelons - reserved for the most gifted mages and ruled by the Dreamers - were waged like wars, with casualties only among those of lesser standing.  
  
Solas remembered. Not a paradise, warped beyond recognition in the tales and false lore the Dalish clung to, but an empire, no better than Tevinter.  
  
And yet, sitting in his study in Skyhold's atrium, Solas grieved for the loss of it, the ideal it had once aspired to. All he had done and sacrificed, in vain. He had become the villain of his own story.  
  
Fen'Harel. Dread Wolf. He who betrayed our gods, our creators, he who tricked and imprisoned them. Cursed be your name!


	2. Apostate

The barely contained and organized chaos of arriving refugees seeking protection and shelter was a distant murmur, mingling with the cadence of prayers, the howling wind, and shouted orders.  
  
The cells underneath the Chantry were a dismal and dark place, filled with soiled straw, infested with mice, and overgrown with lichen, while rivulets of water ran along its walls. The Breach was a pulsing wound in the sky that threatened all, yet here, despair had saturated the stonework over the course of centuries.  
  
The spirits were restless, a constant pressure against Solas' temples, a pain he could do nothing to soothe and ease.  
  
Hardly an environment conducive to the recovery of a patient. Alas, this one was also a prisoner, and the Seeker, in her tempered rage over loved ones lost, had deemed it fitting. - And also safer for everyone involved. She well knew the hearts of men.  
  
"If you leave now, you will come to no harm," Solas stated matter-of-fact, focused on his task. The scent of elfroot extract was strong in the air, fed one drop at a time with great care and patience.  
  
Solas opened his free hand and Veilfire sparked to live with barely a flicker of consumed mana. It could light the way and reveal the secrets of ages past, but the men gathered behind him, blinded by their anger and raised to fear mages indiscriminately, would mistake the danger as real.  
  
They left without a word, running, shaken by what they thought they had seen bristling and snarling in the shadows, leaving Solas to tend to his patient.  
  
A Dalish mage. The abomination that had opened the Breach and destroyed the Conclave to some. The one survivor blessed by Holy Andraste, already becoming a symbol of hope, to others. And in truth a meddler, unforeseen by both Solas and Corypheus, who now bore the mark of the Anchor, that should have devoured him by all rights...  
  
And yet he lived.  
  
Solas' eyes lingered on Mythal's branching vallaslin with distaste, an emotion he felt strongly for all the wrong reasons. The orb had been his, imbued with his power, and now the quick cadence of another's heartbeat echoed his own, a phantom presence that filled Solas with one more guilt to add to his shame at what his pride had wrought.  
  
"Solas."  
  
Curbing an instinctive reaction to protect, that, in its violence, would have destroyed all his plans, Solas turned around slowly and inclined his head in greeting. "Lady Cassandra."  
  
"What of the prisoner?" the Seeker asked, her lips curling in distaste.  
  
"Still unresponsive," Solas answered. "And yet, he proves to be remarkably resilient."  
  
"Let me know as soon as he wakes. He has a lot to answer for."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Solas watched her leave, then settled in to meditate. Perhaps the Fade would offer answers where his own wisdom had failed him.


	3. Keeper

Solas allowed his eyes to wander, contemplating the murals. Each a decision made, a moment in history. Tonight, he would need to add another.  
  
Returning from Skyhold's kitchen with a basket full of eggs, Solas set them aside to first clean the area of the wall he had chosen. That done, it would normally have taken him hours to prepare the colors he needed. However, two dozen clay jars, filled to the brim with ground pigment, already waited for him.  
  
A very thoughtful gift indeed. He saw the Inquisitor's handwriting in it, and also recognized it as the deed of a sleepless night. One lost to them, that they could have spent exploring the Fade together, had circumstances allowed for such an intimacy.  
  
Drawn by curiosity, Solas inspected the jars, the fine powder within. Aran had outdone himself, had made use of berries for shades of lilac, red and purple. Soil, scraped off rust and soot had been used for rich browns and black. Onion skins for yellow, malachite for green.  
  
And the rarest of all beasts: blue. A small fortune of vitriol had been sacrificed for Solas' sake.  
  
Warmed by the thought to be known so well by another, Solas began with his task. The first step was to separate the yolk from the white, the second to mix it with the pigment. Soon, another choice took shape, the paint applied in a multitude of thin layers.  
  
Each mural a reflection of decisions Solas had had no part in influencing beyond companionship and animated discussions, but agreed with to a degree that astonished him still.  
  
Perhaps this pride, felt on behalf of another, was one he could safely indulge in.


	4. Dreamer

Aran was sleeping peacefully, the sheets wrapped around him, displaying only the smooth lines of his face. He dreamed, by now wandering the Fade with ease. He might have welcomed a guide, a teacher, but Solas remained awake.  
  
He was content to watch, to engrave this moment into his memory, to carry it with him when he left. As he must, as soon as Corypheus was defeated and the orb his once more. He had much to atone for.  
  
This stolen happiness could not last. But for now, Solas held on to the warmth beside him, their fingers intertwined.


	5. Fen'Harel

Solas was at a loss for words. The glint in Aran's bright eyes was such that it spoke of an emotion far beyond the realm of mere stubbornness. Worse, it encompassed forgiveness, understanding, and love.  
  
It was a force that would not be denied. Solas felt it keenly, beyond the heartbeat that echoed his own, because it said everything he himself had been too cowardly to. The removal of Aran's vallaslin had been a pathetic gesture indeed when compared with the gift of the whole truth.  
  
"The things I have done, what I plan to do, the consequences..." Solas hesitated, then shook his head. "I think it lies within their nature, that one is not allowed to come back from them."  
  
"And yet here I am."  
  
"Aran -"  
  
"You do not get to make this decision for me." Aran turned around, following the path that wound its way down the mountain, well out of sight of any Inquisition forces that, by then, must have been in a frenzy to find their leader. "Are you coming?"  
  
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. An act of defiance, a declaration of its existence, the pride it took in roaming free and wild; trying in vain to eat the moon. To the people, the very symbol of rebellion.  
  
In the end, Solas followed, only too glad to not walk alone.


End file.
